Lying Forgotten
by blackfang13
Summary: [Was Innocence of Children] What is it like to be a legend? Things are never what they seem, as Prince Marth knows well. Just like how he's a mage-in-training and yet is better suited to be a soldier. But with this demon he's stuck with, the surface seems the whole story. Maybe he can at least make it shut up for a second and help him find the source of a plague for Queen Zelda.
1. Prologue

**Lynx: So all you lovelies who read Innocence of Children…please don't kill me! (Ducks behind desk) I know I told you all I was only revamping the first few chapters, but as I was going over them all I could think was, "What the hell was I on when I came up with this plot?" I felt like it didn't have a lot of depth or creativity to it. So I got to thinking how I could improve the plot…and this is what I came up with. I really, really hope you all like the changes just as much as I do because I've poured everything I've learned about writing into this. If you don't though, then I'm sorry and I hope you can find another story you enjoy. As for new readers, welcome! It's great to have you!**

**Link: You're rambling.**

**Lynx: Shh! One is only rambling if what they're saying isn't important, and everything I have to say is.**

**Link: In some demented alternate dimension maybe.**

**Lynx: ….Ass….**

**Link: Thank you.**

**Lynx: (pouts) Whatever. Anyways enjoy, R&R or don't, and may your life be fantastic! **

**Warnings: Insanity, eventual torture, OCs, swearing, gore, violence, yaoi (I think you all expect this from me by now), awesomeness, and if there's anything else I'll add it later.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything other than what originated from my own mind. Unfortunately that does not include Legend of Zelda or Fire Emblem. (sighs in utter despondency)**

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**Lying Forgotten: Prologue**

Giggling as he darted between the legs of adults, Marth wove his way deeper into the festival and farther away from his escort. All around him people were laughing, shouting; sellers were hawking their wares in an attempt to get potential customers to come nearer to their booths. Marth couldn't stop himself from ogling all the different races: Gorons, Zoras, Hylians, and Gerudo interspersed by the occasional human who'd traveled to be here. One in all though, they had happy expressions on their faces as they reveled in the warm, spring night.

It was the Festival of the Goddesses, held annually to celebrate the three deities the races of Hyrule believed created the world. This was Marth's first time attending; it was actually his first time visiting Hyrule ever. The fact that he was only nine years old and his father already thought him old enough to accompany him on diplomatic trips made him swell with pride. Elice had been eleven before she gotten to go on a trip with Father.

The only thing which was marring his happiness in coming with his father was the number of guards that had been ordered to watch him. Honestly, he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. So he'd ditched his security as soon as he could. How could he enjoy a festival if he had a ring of people blocking his view?

He dodged down a side alley between two stores along the market square of Castletown, emerging on the other side into a street crowded by dancing revelers. He wiggled between gaps in the shifting mass, making his way over to the other edge. He entered a fairly clear space just in front of a booth; lifting up on tip-toe he peeked over the side so he could stare wide eyed at the colorful masks on top.

"Hello there, young man," the woman overseeing the booth greeted him jovially, smiling as she spread her hands over her mask, "are you looking to be from the legends this fine evening?"

Marth blinked up at her, his eyebrows climbing up his forehead, "From legend?"

The woman chuckled at his question, gesturing to the festival around them, "Well of course. That's what this festival is; a night when we remember the legends that created our world." Pointing to one, a grinning gold fox mask, she explained, "This here is a Keaton, a ghost fox. They are said to be fond of riddles, enjoy giving gifts to children, and they are able to hide in plain sight."

Touching a finger to the mask, Marth laughed happily, "It's cute."

"That it is," the woman grinned at him then glanced down the street, "why don't you head on that way? I know there's a stage on along and I heard they'll be telling the Legend of the Hero tonight. I think you'll like that one."

Face lighting up, Marth's heels thumped back on the ground, "Really? Thanks ma'am!" Without waiting another moment, Marth took off down the street in the direction the woman had indicated. It took him only a little searching to find the stage which was starting to fill with chattering festival goers. Hastily Marth dashed up the center aisle and took a seat on the front bench near the center of the stage.

Ten minutes later the benches were full and the lights on the stage had dimmed. Excitement was bubbling up in Marth's stomach; giggles had him pressing a hand to his mouth to try and stifle them. All around a hush fell over the crowd, even on the children younger than him.

A male Hylian came traipsing out; his raven black hair done in messy spikes which emphasized his pointed ears tapering along the curve of his head. Unconsciously Marth fingered his own round ears, but his attention was riveted to the Hylian as he swept an elaborate bow, "Welcome ladies and gents. My name is Vaiden and I want to thank you for taking time from your evening to hear me tell my tale."

Straightening, Vaiden smiled charmingly out at the audience, "So I'm sure all of you are aware I'll be telling the Legend of the Hero this fine night, a tale close to all our hearts here in the great country of Hyrule. Our heroes have kept the world safe for time untold, their noble hearts infused with Farore's courage." With a flourish Vaiden produced a tall, black wood staff from mid-air and thumped it against the stage, "So without further ado I will begin."

_Long ago, before the world had been formed, three golden goddesses descended upon the chaotic land. Din, the Goddess of Power, Nayru, the Goddess of Wisdom and Farore, the Goddess of Courage, were the names of these three golden goddesses._

_ Din, with her strong, fire-bathed arms, shaped the land to create the earth. Nayru poured her boundless wisdom onto the earth to give the spirit of the law to the world. Farore's rich, abundant soul created all life forms who would uphold the law._

_ When they were done with their work, the three great goddesses returned to the heavens, leaving behind the golden sacred Triforce. The Triforce was sealed in the Sacred Realm connected to Hyrule._

_The legends say that whoever holds the Triforce can make their wishes come true, but one must have the perfect balance between the three forces: Power, Wisdom, and Courage. If someone without the right balance lays his or her hand on the Triforce, it will split into three pieces. The one touching the Triforce will hold the force that he or she most believes in, and the two other parts will be given to persons chosen by destiny to carry the Triforce-part that they represent. The persons who carry the Triforce or a part of it can be recognized by the Triforce symbol on their hands._

"It is well-known that our beloved queen carries the Tri-Force piece of Wisdom. Many believe the Tri-Force is the reason our kingdom has been so prosperous since the Renovation." Vaiden smiled, looking over his shoulder where Marth knew the castle rose over the town. Everyone in the audience followed Vaiden's gaze, their eyes filling with patriotic fervor.

_The Goddesses, in all their all-knowing power, foresaw the need for a protector of the Tri-Force, since such great power always draws those with less than benign intentions. So they crafted a soul, infused with Farore's courage, Nayru's steady patience and Din's unwavering determination to guard the Tri-Force through all time._

_Thus was how the Hero came to be, our shield against the evil of this world. Now, whenever the world enters danger, the Hero is chosen among our people and they step forward to fight. In every age a Hero has stepped forward to defend this world, without fail. This is the Legend of the Hero…_

Marth stopped listening, his imagination caught by the idea of a hero chosen by goddesses to protect everyone. Oh, someone so brave, who would sacrifice themselves to stop evil from ruining everything. Plus, if he could believe this tale-teller, these heroes actually lived in every age where they appeared to fight off evil.

Abruptly excitement thundered through Marth and he shot to his feet as he blurted, "Does that mean there's a hero right now?"

Everyone went deathly silent, Vaiden staring flat-eyed at Marth from his spot on the stage. Shrinking in on himself, Marth glanced nervously around the crowd. He didn't know why everyone was so put-out by his question, but they were.

Up on the stage Vaiden took a deep breath, lifting his hand to make a soothing gesture, "He obviously is ignorant of what happened and he's only a child. No need to be angry with a boy." Hands dropping, Vaiden looked at Marth, "What is your name?"

Looking up through his lashes, he answered, "Marth, sir."

Vaiden didn't smile at him, face serious, "Marth son, if there's one thing you take away from here I want it to be this. Never again mention the−−" here Vaiden's mouth twisted in a grimace, "hero of this age. He wasn't… well-looked upon. Besides the hero of this age is dead, and there's no use in thinking on dead. Do you understand?"

Marth nodded hastily, his eyes wide with shock and disbelief. Giving a small nod back, Vaiden tugged his cloak closer around him. Then, sweeping his eyes over the crowd, he returned to his legend as if he had never stopped. Marth didn't bother to continue listening, instead slipping away back into the rest of the festival. He realized that he no longer had any wish to take part in merry-making, so he turned toward the castle. As he trudged back to his father and the inevitable lecture he would receive for dodging his guards, his curiosity about the hero tickled at the back of his mind.

This hero…how did he die and why?

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**Lynx: Well, here's the new prologue. I don't know how good it is, but it does its intended job. So ya, anyways this is what has become of Innocence. There will be elements that are the same but I've changed quite a bit. I hope all you readers like it, especially those who liked the old Innocence. By the by, if you happened to read it, what did ya'll think of the summary? Out of curiosity on my part.**

**Link: You're pathetic, I hope you know that.**

**Lynx: Better than you could ever know.**

**Link: Good. Then my work is done.**

**Lynx: (flips him off) Asswad. **


	2. Death is the Beginning to Where I Am

**Lynx: Well all, I'm going to put up everything I have so far since it's been…almost a year. (cringes) Damn, I'm terrible at this. I don't know how to apologize to all my old readers, but I promise I'm going to do better. I will write on this even when I fall into one of my "I hate it so much I wish it would spontaneously combust" phases.**

**Link: I'll believe it when I see it.**

**Marth: I hope we don't see it. That'll mean she gave up again.**

**Lynx: (hisses) I never gave up! I just procrastinated an insane amount.**

**Link: Same thing.**

**Lynx: Why do I like you two again?**

**Disclaimer: I still own nothing…why is this?! I specifically remember offering a sacrifice to the gods so that they would give me Legend of Zelda and Fire Emblem. They lied to me again!**

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******Lying Forgotten: Death is the Beginning to Where I Am**

It was silent, completely and utterly silent. No birds calling, no insects with their incessant noise, not even that sense of sound you get just from other living things. This place, this decrepit old ruin in the middle of the Lost Forest, was devoid of life in a way that not even a grave was. Even the vegetation was limp and lackluster for all that it was abundant and damn near impenetrable.

Slowly stepping into a meager pool of light, Sheik surveyed the area for any possible threats. It was basic survival knowledge that when nature went silent there was a predator nearby. But for all his sharp Sheikah, ruby-red eyes could detect, they could not find whatever was lying in wait here or any signs of it.

Sweat was trickling down his forehead, threatening to enter his eyes and he risked the brief moment it took for him to wipe it away with the back of his hand. When his vision was no longer obscured, he searched frantically to see any difference. Of course, there was none. Not a leaf out of place or a patch of sunlight shifted.

Whatever was haunting this place, it was patient. If only he didn't need to enter that ruin, he would about-face and never look back. Since he did however, he cautiously began making his way towards what used to be the front door of this temple. At the base of the small amount of steps leading up to the door, Sheik catalogued all the tumbled debris, checking to make sure none of it would shift and send the rest down on top of his head.

When no evidence suggesting such a fate was found, he nimbly leapt up the stone steps and slipped through the partially blocked opening. Inside the stones of the entranceway shimmered with water and slimy, green moss. His mind converted the knowledge into a warning that footing would be tricky, so his regular fighting style would be ineffectual here.

Far off he could hear the continuous drip of water, but his mind automatically filtered it out, deeming it unimportant. On a quiet breath, the blonde Sheikah started down the path before him. For several minutes all he was confronted with was a similar view, water and moss on unoriginal gray stone walls, and then he abruptly entered what seemed to be a formal hall. Scattered across the floor were the rotten husks of what used to be furniture and on the walls uniform rectangles that were lighter told where tapestries had hung.

A swift sweep of the room was all Sheik needed to know there was nothing of value here. With that, he promptly crossed it and entered the hallway leading out the other side. Another passage exactly the same as the first hallway, then another room, this one looking like a dining hall which obviously didn't hold his mission's objective. Ghosting on through it, he entered another hallway and sighed in relief when he saw this one was different. This hallway actually had doors interrupting the smooth expanses of the walls.

Going to the first one on his left, Sheik peeked through a hole in the swollen wood of the door. Disappointment whispered through him as he saw an unassuming room with what he thought used to be a bed frame along one wall. Which meant the rest of the doors in the hall probably guarded the same. Shaking his head, he moved to the door at the very end of the hall but stopped as he regarded it. The wood was so water swollen it actually bulged in the center and the handle was rusted to a dark red brown.

A quick decision and Sheik kicked the door down. The loud boom as it thudded to the floor made him cringe. He would have avoided the sound if he could have but this was the only way to enter the inner recesses of the temple. Stepping over the door, Sheik continued on.

It felt like hours later when he finally crossed the threshold into what must have been the sanctuary. This single room (and room didn't accurately describe it) could have swallowed the entirety of the rest of the temple. Above his head a ribbed ceiling soared up, gracefully sculpted columns holding its immense weight. The walls on either side of him were interrupted every few feet by arched windows filled with stained glass mosaics that took his breath away with their beauty. Ahead, covering the entire back wall of the sanctuary was a mural of such intricate detail and intense color that it was impossible for even his specially trained mind to take in all of it.

He knew, **he knew**, that this was one of the things Queen Zelda had sent him here to find. Giving his head a rough shake, Sheik paced down the aisle between the stone benches until he stood in front of the altar. But before he could focus on committing the mural to memory, his gaze snagged on the glint of metal and was drawn inexorably down to the altar's wide surface, which stretched nearly the full, considerable width of the room.

Placed with obvious care and attention to precision on the altar were weapons. Every weapon Sheik had ever seen or heard tell of, and even some he hadn't, could be found on it. He was so absorbed in the sight that he didn't hear the rustle of wings from above and thus didn't dodge before five sharp claws carved lines of fire down his back.

Choking on a gasp, Sheik stumbled into the altar, cracking his forehead hard against its edge. Like all head wounds, blood immediately began to gush from the split, flooding down into his eyes. Somehow, through the attack, his hands had been able to clutch the altar's lip. Gritting his teeth, Sheik fought his way back to his feet, already blinking his eyes to try and clear them. When he whipped around to confront his attacker, his vision was only clear enough from him to see a humanoid shape, mantled by huge wings. Then, before he could so much as blink again, something solid was flying towards his head, crashing into the side of it.

His world went black.

**xXx**

Hushed murmurs echoed dully off the pristine white marble of the throne room. The words were in dark tandem to the cheery sunlight filtering through the clear crystalline and colorful stained glasses of the high, arched windows in the eastern wall. An unsettled mood permeated the air, seeping into the exposed pores of the people present at the dour occasion.

Fighting the urge to fidget in her raised throne, Queen Zelda of Hyrule frowned as her gaze swept over the gathering. As ever, she was exquisite in a fine silk gown, a somber blue accented by striking bronze and edged with crushed amber fragments, and her long, golden hair was done up expertly into an intricate half bun, the rest left to tumble loose down her back. There were just the faintest hints of worry in her delicate face, the skin between her brows lightly creased with royal cares. She was still one of the most beautiful women in the entirety of Hyrule, but that beauty was masked by the royal dignity she wore as a shield in these times of strife.

Idly her finger traced a pattern carved into the stone arm of her throne while she listened to the Captain of her Guard report more tidings of villages left silent by inhabitants found dead and decaying in their beds. No violence could be found at these scenes of woe, no sword or axe leaving their distinctive marks. Just suppurating sores in the mouth, eyes crusted with blood, and no survivors. It was as if in one day all the villagers went to bed then didn't awaken the next morning. This made the eighth such incident to be discovered, though there could be many more since Hyrule's towns and villages were so far-flung and isolated.

When the man finally slowed to a halt, Zelda let out a pent up breath, dread niggling at her stomach. Though no evidence to such could be found, she strongly believed plague was being visited upon her people, and by no accident since other countries were not suffering the same. And if such was indeed the case, who had the ability to breed a devastating sickness? Most importantly, who would want to?

If she remained silent much longer her nobles would begin to think her as inanimate as her throne, "Thank you for your report Captain Reftin. Rest assured I am employing every resource at my disposal to discover the cause for these continued tragedies. Please keep up the good work. You are dismissed."

Rising from his knee, Captain Reftin gave her a respectful bow, his handsome face hollowed by grief. Then he pivoted on his boot heel and strode from the throne room, his back as straight as ever. He was a good man who genuinely cared for the welfare of the people and the inviolability of the law. She was blessed to have such a man in charge of her guards.

So distracted by her musings, she didn't notice the woman moving out of the crowd and towards the throne until she was just a foot from the platform, "Your Majesty, may I speak?"

Zelda hid her surprise behind a stony indifference, "Indeed you may Lady Gesdla."

Hand fiddling with her lacy pink skirts, Lady Gesdla pursed her painted lips, "Your Majesty, I would like to make the suggestion that we call in the mages of the Tower Arcanum. I have heard that they are capable of solving any riddle and untangling any knot. I think, perhaps, they might be able to tell us what is behind these unsettling incidents."

It was with supreme effort that Zelda kept her eyebrows from rising in incredulity. Apparently the woman hadn't heard that those mages also liked to keep those indebted to them, indebted. Or she had purposely omitted that particular rumor in the vain hope that Zelda hadn't heard it. No, she would exhaust all connections, all her own skills before she asked those leeches for help, "An excellent suggestion Lady Gesdla. I will keep it in mind, but for now I have every confidence in our own capable people and their ability to solve this mystery."

Lady Gesdla, cheeks brushed pink, curtsied and retreated back into the crowd, returning to her husband's side. Zelda would pay in the coming weeks for the imagined slight Gesdla felt she'd just taken. However, anything was better than having puffed up magical sops interfering in the affairs of her kingdom. Indeed she would suffer through a great deal worse.

Zelda came to her slipper-shod feet and raised a slender hand to gain the attention of everyone in the room, "My Lords and Ladies, scions of Hyrule's oldest families, let us return to our homes and estates. It serves us no good to stand around here and worry ourselves sick. I shall keep you all informed the moment something more develops. I wish you all a good day and safe traveling for those who will be doing so." Farewell said, Zelda swept down off the platform, leaving through a single door to her right.

The corridor beyond was deserted, its unadorned walls soothing to her jangled nerves. This is what she needed to do with the problem facing her; strip away all the distracting details and view the central core. The only problem was she didn't have all the information. Did someone who'd contracted this mystery disease display earlier symptoms or did it truly strike from one day to the next? Were there signs of sickness from animals in the infected areas? Was it connected to a certain food, or perhaps water or even a certain activity? How quickly did it spread from one person to another? There was so much she didn't know; all she could do was stumble blindly in the darkness and hope she found a way out of this mess for her country.

The intense longing for a friend, someone who she could talk to as herself almost suffocated her. There was no one though; Impa was busy over-seeing Sheikan affairs, Sheik was off on assignment and Link…Zelda's breath hitched, her mind refusing to go down that particular trail. He was gone, had been gone for a very long time and wasn't coming back. There was no point agonizing over things past.

Pressing a fist to her chest, Zelda straightened, her shoulders going back and her chin firming. She had work to do that needed her undivided attention. Besides, she knew the Hero would want her to keep safe the people he'd fought so hard to save in the first place. Striding off, Zelda returned to her royal duties with new determination firing her steps.

**xXx**

Lounging on a wide ledge of a high balcony, Prince Marth of Altea looked out across the tranquil grounds surrounding Tower Arcanum. Leaves were rustling in a gentle breeze, song birds flitting from branch to branch and calling to each other, squirrels racing up and down trunks chattering, and clouds forming lazy wisps in a brilliant, blue sky. All of it was so soothing, so natural that it instantly put his heart at ease.

He had been at the Tower Arcanum going on three years, putting him on the cusp of the jump from apprentice to journeyman. Of course he was at a disadvantage to the other students; he had been sent to the school at the age of sixteen while most apprentices began when seven or eight years of age. Those who were his age or older were already journeyman, seniors or even masters if they were exceptionally talented; he was the only apprentice who was nineteen years old. It was a constant source of embarrassment for him and a never-ending one of scorn for them.

Because here in the Tower it didn't matter that he was a prince, or that in all other studies he out-stripped everyone else. Here everything was decided by magic and how much talent you had for it. Oh how it rankled, to be judged on one standard alone. Other than the few friends he had managed to make, he was despised by other students and held in contempt by the teachers. Well, except for his philosophy, linguistics and weapons teachers. They saw him for what he was, and worked hard to nurture him in an otherwise suffocating environment. If not for them and his friends he would have left the Tower long ago and damn the consequences.

Something was digging into his fingers, cold and ridged. Glancing down he was slightly surprised to see his hand clenched around the pommel of his sword. He relaxed his hand, watching as color faded back into his skin. It was a stark reminder that he needed to keep his temper in check, lest it come lashing out and get him into trouble. Sighing, he shook his head, ran his sore hand through his teal locks and stared back out at the grounds.

Footsteps behind him brought his head around and his hand hovering over his sword. When Merric stepped out onto the balcony, Marth let the tension drain from his body. He frowned at his green haired friend, "I thought you were teaching classes all day."

Fiddling with the sleeve of his long, black master's robe, Merric smiled at Marth, "The Heads decided to have one of the journeymen teach several of my classes. Something about wanting to see whether he'd make a good candidate for senior." Laughter danced in Merric's blue eyes as he came over to perch by Marth on the ledge.

Crooking a knee, Marth rested his chin on it, his ice blue eyes losing their focus, "I hope he proves his worth then. We seem to be lacking seniors among the ranks."

Merric, clasping his hands in his lap, cast a concerned glance at his friend, "Marth, are you alright?"

And there it was; the infamous question. Was he okay? No, he was not; the only issue was he didn't know why. That was why he'd come out here, in the hope of working out whatever was bothering him. Because he had a terrible suspicion that whatever it was would only get worse before it got better. There was no need to weigh Merric down with it as well, "I'm fine. I'm just nervous about the ceremony next week."

Smiling, Merric gave the leg Marth wasn't hugging a reassuring pat, "Everything will go fine, Marth. There's absolutely no need to stress yourself out."

"I know that but theory and practice are two entirely different things," Marth sighed, picking at his trouser leg, "I just hope they don't put me with a master who eats his own ice spines."

Merric chuckled at the analogy even as he sympathized, "I've asked the Heads if they'll assign you to me, and it will be nigh impossible for them to do otherwise if they don't wish to cause a ruckus. But until then, stop fretting. If you keep it up those grooves will be engraved on your face. That's a bit of a killer with the ladies, don't you think?"

Scowling, Marth rolled his eyes, "It's not like I can do anything with them. I'm already engaged to King Mostyn's daughter, Princess Shiida, and if someone caught wind of my testing the waters," he grimaced, fingers curling, "well let's just say the consequences don't bear thinking upon."

There was silence between them for a moment, as Merric searched for something to say to the prince. He came up empty-handed, for once at loss of advice or commiseration. Instead he settled for saying, "At least you don't have to get married until another year. And since you're being made journeyman, you'll finally be able to leave the Tower. Just think: you'll get to visit other countries except not as a diplomat. We both know they never get any privacy."

"I don't get privacy anywhere," Marth scoffed, flicking his fingers dismissively, "I'm too fascinating to be left alone." Releasing his leg, Marth let his foot scuff the smooth stone of the balcony, "So why are you out here Merric?"

Merric smiled, getting himself to his feet, "You always see right through me, my friend. I actually came looking for you because the tailors want to measure you for journeyman robes."

Rolling his eyes, Marth stood up as well, his hands going into the air in a show of exasperation, "Can they ever not torture me for a day? No, apparently they can't and thus why they're sending me to get pricked by fussy little men who wear tights."

"They don't wear tights." Merric copied Marth's earlier eye roll, "You really must watch your penchant for exaggeration." Then, tucking his hands in his sleeves across his middle, Merric led the way inside.

Following reluctantly on Merric's heels, Marth muttered, "They look like tights to me."

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**Lynx: And there's the end of the first chapter. So what do ya'll think? I know I changed things a lot, pretty much scrapped the old version plus the revamped version of it but I really felt this fic needed a total make-over. But I'm doing my best to make this a kazillion times better than the old one.**

**Link: She spent a lot of time reading advice on how to make her writing suck less.**

**Marth: I hate to say it but I think she's done a good job on improving.**

**Link: You're just saying that because she made you a lot less of a pretentious prick in this.**

**Marth: Oh and you're complaining about the changes she made to you?**

**Lynx: Alright boys, settle down. No need to get ahead of ourselves ya? Anyways if you want to leave a review now or after you've read all of my new spiffy chapters, I just want to thank you now for reading at all and future thank you for reviewing if you do. **


	3. Faith is a Lost Art, Did it Ever Exist

**Lynx: Dun, dun, dun! Chapter 2 all! Haha, look at that! I am on a roll!**

**Link: Ya, sure you are. Maybe you should wait to say that at the end of the chapter.**

**Marth: He has a point there. And aren't the opening comments usually reserved for disclaimers and warnings?**

**Lynx: (glares) Fine! Then do them you two ungrateful louts! (grumbles and stomps off)**

**Link: (rolls eyes) Other than the plot and the OCs, this crazy bitch owns nothing. Thank the Goddesses.**

**Marth: This will contain blood, possible gore, yaoi eventually, swearing, and who knows what else but when it comes up we'll put up a warning about it too. **

**Link: You can now go on to the chapter if you even bothered to read this in the first place. Later.**

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**Lying Forgotten: Faith is a Lost Art, Did it Ever Exist**

Zelda was experiencing a loss of aplomb, a serious loss. Never, in her entire thirty-eight years of life, had she ever felt so out of control of a situation. Not when Ganondorf had fooled her father, nor when he'd slipped into the Sacred Realm behind Link, and not even when he had subjugated Hyrule for seven long years. Even in those desperate times, she had had a plan, a way to return things to normal.

Now, as she looked around at her fellow sages who each stood on their respective platforms on the isle in the Sacred Realm, she for once stood blind to the future. There were no enlightening visions from the three Goddesses, no intuition on what to do. For Nayru's sake, she didn't even know what the root of the problem was.

She'd called a meeting of the sages in the hope that one of them might have a clue as to what they were facing. She's been sorely disappointed though; all of them were just as daunted as she was. This plague, in one form or another, was affecting all the races of Hyrule. What was worse, Impa had just told her that she hadn't had a report from Sheik for nearly two weeks. Perhaps it'd been silly of her but as Queen she'd pinned most of her hopes on Sheik discovering a way out of this mess for them.

Even that had failed now, her last ditch effort. She was out of options, out of ideas, out of fallbacks. Why had it come to this? Hadn't she been a good and faithful servant, caring unselfishly for her kingdom?

It wasn't fair.

Biting her trembling lip, Zelda blinked her exhaustion darkened eyes and titled her head up to stare at the ever shifting blue of the Sacred Realm, "We must do something."

Over on her ocean blue medallion, Ruto, Sage of Water and the true power behind the Zora throne, gave a petulant huff, "We are doing something. But none of what we're doing seems to have any effect at all."

Darunia, Big Brother of the Gorons and Sage of Fire, nodded and sighed tiredly, "It's true. And I fear that if we don't find a way to fight this plague soon, we will all return to the stone."

A choked sob made Zelda look down and over at the small, green-haired Kokiri girl standing on the medallion of Forest. She felt sympathy sweep through her; the Kokiri never had reason to fear death before this, "Saria, don't cry. We'll figure this out, I promise."

Pressing a small fist to her mouth, Saria scrunched her eyes closed, let out a deep breath and murmured, "I know, I'm sorry. This is all just so…trying. How do the other races live with this? This sadness? This sense of loss?" There was desperation in the girl's voice and in her eyes as she swept her gaze from one face to another.

It was Impa who answered, her usually stern face softened, "Death is simply a step one takes in their lifelong journey. We all eventually join each other again once more. It is not goodbye forever." Silence then, for they were wrapped up in dark musings of the people they had lost. Every face there was lined with weariness and defeat.

"Look at us, brought to a halt by a disease," Nabooru snarled, her dark-skinned fists clenched at her sides, "this must end!" The Gerudo leader emphasized her point by slamming one fist into another.

Raura, his age-lined face the same as it had been when Zelda had met him, tucked his hands up his sleeves and rested his arms on his ample belly, "And what do you suggest Sage of Spirit?" The look he leveled on Nabooru was searing, "Do not stomp and shout if you cannot place substance behind it. Such behavior is ill becoming of a sage."

"And don't you stand there and sneer at me Raura, when you're here tucked nice and safe in the Sacred Realm. Perhaps it's the same for the others, perhaps not, but this goddess forsaken plague is striking down our little ones. The Gerudo have lost fifteen children just this week!" Nabooru's expression was wild with inarticulate anger and overbearing grief. Strands of Nabooru's fiery red hair had escaped their confinement of her ponytail, something Zelda had never seen before on the dark-skinned woman.

Zelda shook her head, a hand pressed to her heart, "I'm sorry Nabooru. I had no idea this plague was affecting the Gerudo in such a way. I don't understand how but it seems to attack each of the races differently."

Shaking with the force of her emotions, Nabooru growled, her eyes dark with her pain, "When I get my hands on the bastard who's causing this, I'll give him back all the suffering he's caused us tenfold. Gerudo-style."

"You said he! Why did you say he Nabooru?!" Zelda demanded. She'd long ago learned to pay attention to the nuances of the other sages' powers. Nabooru, being the Sage of Spirit, had the curious ability to sometimes trace events back to their origins.

Startled, Nabooru released all the tension in her body, instead adopting a thoughtful pose. Pulling at her lip in concentration, Nabooru sunk into a trance as she stared unseeing out at the Sacred Realm. Suddenly a shiver raced down the woman's spine, "It feels male, but there's something else. It's twisted, bitter, resentful, a little bit crazy…and dark. Wherever this person belongs to, it's very dark, in the sense of tainted." Nabooru looked around at them all, her lips pulled down in a scowl, "I don't like this. It reeks of being Dark Magic."

"But this is good Nabooru, we finally have some sort of starting place." Zelda said, nearly breathless from relief, "When the next incident is reported, I'll go out personally and see if my powers can't sniff out this source you've found. If you can trace it at all, then this plague must be closely tied to its creator."

"Are you sure it's wise to put yourself at the risk of exposure, Queen Zelda?" Impa asked, her frown telling what she thought of such a course.

Zelda whirled to frown right back at her old care-taker, "If it means saving my people, then I will do anything." That said she turned her back on the Sheikah, "In fact, maybe all of us should attempt to trace this path with our powers. I know each of us is specialized in our abilities but I believe we each have the power to sense someone else's workings."

"You're correct there, Zelda," Darunia agreed, thumping his chest with enthusiasm, "I will do everything I can to tumble this obstacle, on my word as Big Brother of the Gorons."

Composed as ever, Raura nodded his head, "We each now have a task; I think it best we adjourn this meeting and set to them immediately. If none of you have anything further to add that is?"

In unison all the sages still living in the physical realm shook their heads, some eager, some reluctant. Seeing this, Raura gave another nod, his heavy white eyebrows gathered together on his forehead, "If one of you discovers something let me know and I shall contact the rest. I wish you all the best of luck and continue to pray for your safety."

Hearing that, each of the sages were enveloped in their respective colors as they teleported from the Sacred Realm. Zelda, last to go, watched as each light faded before she finally triggered the teleportation spell herself. When next she could see again, she was standing alone in her bedchamber. Its familiar furnishings reassured her, working to calm the vertigo she suffered from every time she teleported.

Tucking a strand of her long blonde hair behind her ear, Zelda sat down on her bed, leaned over the bedside table and blew out the flickering candle. Then, climbing into the covers and settling herself for sleep, she lay her head down and closed her eyes. For the first time in three months, she didn't dream of people with foul, suppurating sores in their mouths and eyes crying tears of blood as they condemned her for letting them die.

**xXx**

He couldn't breathe. Wrenching at the heavy, blue-dyed cotton of his brand new journeyman robes, Marth tried to force air to circulate underneath them. It was ridiculous, having to wear such oppressive fabric on top of his normal tunic and trousers. And then having to stand in the stuffy adjuncts chamber while the heads droned out the ritual passages of ascension? If this kept up he was going to suffocate and then there would have been no point to this boring ceremony anyway.

Sweat kept pricking on his forehead. Wiping it away with the back of his hand for what felt like the millionth time, Marth swore expansively, unafraid of being scolded for improper language. When would they signal for him to enter already? It had nearly been an hour; surely they needed his presence by now.

He tugged at his robe's high neckline, a scowl affixed to his face. Since he had nothing better to do, he began to pace. More sweat built up on him, but he'd long since realized the futility of trying to stay dry underneath his clothes. This chamber was as good as a steam room anyway.

The real reason for his agitation had nothing to do with the room's temperature or his robe or how long he'd been waiting. What really had his stomach in knots was the fact that his father, mother and older sister were all sitting out there in the grand hall, attending his ascension ceremony. He hadn't seen his family in over two years, so he really had no idea how to react to their presence now.

This was a pickled mess in a rotten barrel for him. Not even getting to see the few friends he had among the royal guards was enough to outweigh the verging on terror he was experiencing because of his family. Flapping his robe again fruitlessly, Marth's pacing increased. He just wanted this done and over with already. All this waiting, and anticipating and running himself in mental circles, it was giving him a nasty headache.

As if they'd heard his plea, the door to the chamber magically unsealed and the Centrum was called, "Apprentice Marth Lowell, please grace us with your presence."

Hastily straightening his now rumpled robe, Marth smoothed his long bangs back, took a deep breath and entered the Hall of Pinnacles. Above him the ceiling was shrouded by swirling mists of ever-changing color, a demonstration of the skill and power of the mages who lived inside the Tower. There was no natural light filtering into this hall by means of windows; all illumination was provided by floating, flameless orbs interspersed in the air above. Rows of benches stretched from nearly the back of hall to the front platform; all told the hall was almost three hundred feet long.

It was all very intimidating, and purposeful and all together effective. Anyone entering the Hall of Pinnacles immediately knew to never take a Tower mage lightly. That was what this place was after all; an entire country and society living inside the white granite walls. Here was where boys came to be taught magic, and they grew to become mages. Not men but mages who were infinitely stronger and better than all the rest of humanity.

Eyes were on him from both sides and he'd become the center of attention in a way he'd never had before as he moved down the aisle between the pews. It was exhilarating and terrifying all at once. However, he'd been born to this as the Crown Prince of Altea. With a stoic face he moved down the aisle until he was standing in front of the Centrum where he then knelt and said, "I am here Centrum, to be judged and lifted upon your wisdom."

The old man's craggy face was creased with solemnity, his heavy ornate robes shrouding his sparse frame completely, "Apprentice Marth, you are here because it has been judged that you are ready for the rank of journeyman. Do you agree with this assessment?"

Marth nodded but kept his eyes on the ground, "I do Centrum."

Making a thoughtful noise in his throat, the Centrum turned to regard the panel of Masters standing ranked behind him, "And do any of you have a reason why Apprentice Marth should not gain the rank of Journeyman?"

All of them shook their heads after a long moment except for Merric, who Marth could see in a quick glance was fighting hard to keep a smile off his face. Seeing the Master in agreement, the Centrum returned to facing Marth, his wrinkled hands slipping from his sleeves to begin tracing burning sigils in the air above Marth's head, "Then henceforth, Marth Lowell shall be known by the rank of Journeyman mage. He will have all the privileges but also all the responsibilities that come with such a rank." With a final flare the sigils flashed and sunk down into Marth. The Centrum smiled then, offering him a hand up, "Rise, Journeyman Marth."

Taking the hand, Marth rose to his feet. Briefly he met Merric's eyes but then his attention was diverted by the Centrum proffering him a heavy medallion on a thick silver chain, "This is the symbol of your rank. I recommend you keep it on your person at all times. Now turn and face those who have to come to witness your raising."

Marth did as he'd been told after slipping the chain around his neck. For as far back as he could see there were faces looking up at him, silent and observing. He refused to look at the first row where his family sat; he couldn't bear to see disappointment in their eyes. Instead he looked as far back as he could and gave a fluid bow, "Thank you all. I will do my utmost to be the best journeyman in the history of the Tower."

Then there was clapping and cheering and Merric had come forward to put his arm around his shoulder. The Centrum had retreated, letting the other masters handle the commotion of the reception which was inevitable after any ascension ceremony.

Looking at Merric, Marth wondered, "You think I can avoid my father for a little while longer?"

Grinning at him, Merric steered him over to the left of the platform, "I don't see why not. There are plenty of people waiting to congratulate you and get in good with the Altean royalty."

"I could use some bootlicking. It always makes me feel better." Marth joked, grinning back at Merric as they stepped down off the platform. Merric wasn't able to respond because the crowd swarmed forward, closing in around them and all trying to get Marth's attention. Shaking his head, Marth put on his most charming smile and greeted an old woman holding her hand up to him.

**xXx**

There was a strange scent in the air, indefinable. It seemed to be permeating everything, slipping into every crack and crevasse. Zelda held a hand to her nose, trying to stop the scent from filling the scent receptors there. It was no use though because it seemed every time she breathed it filled her lungs, clinging to the flesh inside.

It made her feel dirty, sullied. No, no, it made her feel tainted. That was the word she wanted to describe the effect of this scent. Wherever this scent came from, it was nowhere good. This supported the feeling Nabooru had told them about during the meeting. Yes, just from this scent Zelda was now certain that whatever had manufactured the plague, it was not natural.

Hand still held before her nose, Zelda moved deeper down the main street of the small village that had been reported plagued-silenced just this morning. All the small houses were built of wood with thatch roofs. It was a very tidy place, little fences around vegetable gardens and no unsightly clutter in the streets. This village seemed a fairly prosperous place with little hardship in the daily lives of its inhabitants.

It saddened her that such a lovely place had been lost, the people gone forever. Perhaps as a ruler it made her unusual but she cherished every life under her protection. What was worse was that every minute she stood here mourning, the higher the probability became that another village would suffer the same fate. Steeling herself, Zelda let her hand drop and strode to the center of the village. There she knelt down, pressing both hands to the dirt of the main street.

Behind her the escort of guards was watching, ready for any sign of danger to their Queen. Zelda shut them out, sinking down deep inside her inner self to where her sage powers slept. With little effort she tapped into them, focusing their strength on picking up traces of Dark Magic. She was certain now that the source of the plague was tainted in a very bad way.

Tendrils of her power spread out around her, searching like hunting dogs for the trail their master wanted. Patiently she waited, praying to the Goddesses her efforts would bear fruit. After what seemed an eternity to her, one of the tendrils sent a ringing chime back to her. On its heels came the understanding that what it had found was the smell Zelda had noticed earlier. Thrilled, she commanded it to trace the scent, which it obediently did.

Excited, her breath quickening by the second, Zelda followed along behind her seeker. Hopefully, in a matter of minutes, she would know what was killing the races of Hyrule so indiscriminately. And she could bring the person who'd unleashed such a disease on them to justice. Make them pay for harming Hyrule and causing――

Agony seared through her. Hatred so intense it mimicked a frozen fire was tearing at her nerves. Nabooru had not been exaggerating: whoever this was they were jaded so bitterly that they were nothing but cruel, sharp edges in their soul. Oh, and the taint. The taint was enough to choke her and she couldn't believe this person, whoever they were, hadn't died from it. They'd succumbed, but hadn't died.

How had they not died?

She needed to hang on to the trace though, at least until she found something that would help her track down this person. Come on, just something, anything. Abruptly, a sharp knife of foreign magic sliced through her seeker, sending it hurtling back into her. Letting out a pained cry, Zelda cut off her magic. Falling back, she sprawled undignified on the ground, her chest heaving for air.

"Good Goddesses," she breathed, a sweat drop trickling down her forehead. Never before had she experienced her magic being cut so swiftly and expertly. She doubted the other magician had even had to expend any other energy beyond the cost of the spell. Whoever they were, they were powerful indeed.

"Queen Zelda, are you alright?"

Zelda turned her head to see Captain Reftin crouching by her side, his face creased with a worried frown. Giving herself a shake, she smiled reassuringly at him, "I'm fine Captain. There was just a little hiccup with my spell. Could you help me to my feet?"

Taking her proffered hand, the captain assisted her to her feet. He let go as soon as she was steady though, his hand going back to gripping his sword hilt, "I don't like the feel of this place, My Queen. I think we should leave soon; very soon preferably."

Zelda didn't see much point in arguing with him. She had the feeling if she tried to seek out the plague spreader, her spell would only be cut off again. She could do no more good here, "I agree Captain. Let us start heading back to the castle."

The man didn't even let a hint of surprise enter his expression though Zelda knew he must be feeling it, "As you say My Queen. After you."

Lifting her skirts, Zelda glided back to her carriage, passing between the guardsmen on the way. Yes, she needed to get back to the castle so she could call another meeting of the Sages and let them know what she had learned her. Hopefully, she would also be able to convince them of the necessity that they must all perform the seeker spell together. Or at least in a group of three.

Climbing into the carriage with the polite hand of a guardsman to steady her, she settled on the cushioned seat inside. Carefully she arranged her skirts around her then set to watching out the window. Captain Reftin wasted no time in getting his men mounted, and starting the small party back towards the palace. An efficient man; her captain.

Now if for once Raura would allow himself to see that efficiency was required as well. The old man was so caught up in tradition and the like that he couldn't see how much the world had changed. Though perhaps being locked in the Sacred Realm didn't help with that. There was only so much one could see through the eyes of a giant owl. One way or another though, she would make him see something had to be done.

It was her duty as the Queen of Hyrule.

**xXx**

Marth let out a deep sigh as the press of people around him eased after nearly two hours of constant small talk. Sometimes there were serious disadvantages to being royalty; such as people assuming you'd remember their name after a brief handshake over three years ago at a ridiculous dinner party of theirs. Honestly, the idea was simple ludicrous and unfair besides.

Royalty were supposed to be made of something better than mortal flesh though; thus he did have to remember the person's name or at least make it seem as if he did. A lesson his tutors had taught him well, thank goodness. The dance of social intricacies always made his head hurt.

Looking around the Hall of Pinnacles, he scanned the crowd to try and spot Merric, but he couldn't find his friend's green hair anywhere. Muttering darkly under his breath, Marth surreptitiously slipped off to a corner where he could maybe hide in peace for the rest of the reception. Though he'd joked earlier that bootlicking made him feel better, it always had the reverse effect of making him sick to his stomach. How could someone wish you a long life and plot your political downfall at the same time?

"Disgusting, immoral, flea-bitten curs; I hope their teeth rot in their heads." Marth grumbled, a hint of a glare narrowing his eyes.

"Careful son, they might hear you."

Starting at the voice, Marth turned his head to stare at the King of Altea as he approached. By the King's side, Marth's mother the Queen glided smoothly, her face serene. A little behind them his sister, Princess Elice and the heir apparent to the throne, was smiling as a hint of mischief danced in her eyes.

Unnecessarily smoothing the front of his robe, Marth cleared his throat and bent his neck in greeting, "Hello Father, Mother, Elice. Have you enjoyed the reception so far?"

Looking over the gathering, Elice gave a sigh and a small shrug of her shoulders, "As much as you have I suspect. This one is more stifling than any I've been to for months. Here I was thinking magicians would know how to make a party lively."

"Mages, not magicians," Marth corrected, scowling, "and most of these sacks of bones wouldn't know lively if they were brought back from the dead."

The comment made Elice laugh but his father frowned at him, brows furrowing, "That is no way to talk about your superiors, Marth." Lifting a hand, the king tapped the medallion hanging from Marth's neck, "You are part of them, so you must show the proper respect. I know I raised you to be better than this."

Laying a hand on her husband's arm, Liza said softly, "Stop lecturing him Cornelius. This is his day and he deserves praise for his achievement." She looked at Marth then, her teal bangs swaying and smiled, "Wonderful job by the way, darling."

Dropping his eyes to the floor, Marth rubbed embarrassedly at the bridge of his nose, "Thank you Mother. Though it never should have taken me this long to gain the title of journeyman."

Going around their parent, Elice placed an arm on Marth's shoulders, grinning, "Stop putting yourself down, brother mine. From what I've heard many of the masters didn't think one as old as you could attain the rank at all. You've proven them wrong which is an accomplishment in my book."

Marth chuckled, giving her a small grin back, "If you say so, Sis."

"I do." Elice nodded decisively, and then looked at their father, "Do you agree, King Cornelius?"

Rubbing the bridge of his own nose in perfect imitation of his son, Cornelius agreed, "I suppose so. Good work, son."

Marth felt a wave of relief and pride wash through him, and the dread he'd been feeling for a week eased. Slipping out from under Elice's arm, Marth gave his father a bow, "Thank you, sir."

"No thanks necessary, son." Cornelius insisted, clapping Marth on the shoulder when he straightened, "I forgot to mention to you in the letter we last sent that your fiancé Princess Shiida would be attending as well. Have you spoken to her yet?"

Repressing the natural urge to flinch, Marth shook his head, "No, I haven't. In fact I haven't even seen her."

Blinking, Cornelius frowned and surveyed the crowd, "That's strange. I was certain she would attach herself to you the moment she could."

Marth didn't feel the urge to mention that he had done his absolute best try and stay away from anyone he was personally familiar with, including his family. However, it was odd Shiida hadn't found him. Usually she was harder to get rid of than a leech. A very sky blue, swaggering, demanding leech, "If she's here, I'm sure she'll latch on soon enough."

Suddenly, arms indeed latched themselves around his right arm, a feminine voice murmuring in an attempt to be alluring, "Have you missed me, dearest?"

Marth nearly choked, just barely managing to stop himself from blanching. It was as if his words had been a summons even though he hadn't invoked magic of any kind. Seriously? Speak of her and she shall appear? Maybe Shiida was a succubus with a very powerful misdirection spell hiding her true identity.

Though the thought was ridiculous, Marth felt the sincere wish that it was true. Unfortunately, she was his fiancée and he was a prince, so he couldn't let his thoughts color his social interactions, "Like a drowning man misses air, beautiful."

Giggling, Shiida brought a hand up to cover her mouth as a blush tinted her pale cheeks, "Oh Marth, you rascal." Releasing his arm, she turned to give his father and mother a respectful curtsy, "King Cornelius, Queen Liza, it has been far too long since we last spoke. I hope you have both been well."

"Very well, thank you." Liza replied, smiling fondly, "I trust you have been well yourself?"

Shiida, smoothing her blue white-slashed silk skirts, nodded, "I have indeed been well. Talys has been very prosperous these last few years, our fishing market especially. One should never have anything to complain about if the economy is thriving."

Discreetly, Marth rolled his eyes. He had heard Shiida complain many times about the most inane of things, such as the wrong shade of silk or a servant not bowing quickly enough. Of course his parents were completely taken in by her pretty sentiment and duly impressed by her selflessness. Oh how he wish he could burst the illusion and−−

He was saved from making a fool of himself by Elice clearing her throat, "Shiida, it seems you've grown very well over these past few years. My compliments to your tailor, your dress is exquisite."

Shiida regarded Elice for a brief moment, before offering a curtsy while she shook her head, insisting, "Thank you, Princess Elice, for the compliment. I shall pass on your words of praise. Though I doubt I shall ever look as lovely in a dress as you yourself do." Marth's ear caught the hint of jealousy lacing those last words, though he doubted his parents had heard. They refused to believe any bad blood existed between their daughter and their future daughter-in-law.

"Well, there you are," Merric exclaimed, joining the group, "I've been looking for you everywhere." Moving to Marth's side, he placed a hand on his shoulder, "I forgot to tell you that you're required to summon a familiar in order to complete the ceremony. You aren't considered a full journeyman until you have a familiar."

Cornelius frowned, his thumbs hooked in his smooth leather belt, "What in the blazes is a familiar, Mage Merric. If it will interfere with Marth entering the political world then I will go have a talk with the masters now."

Blue eyes thinning in thought, Merric tapped his lips, "I suppose the best way to explain a familiar is to say they are a companion to a mage who helps enhance their magic. It is very much how I believe a swordsman and sword are."

"What will the familiar look like?" Liza tilted her head, curiosity plain in her eyes.

"More importantly, does it follow a person everywhere?" Cornelius demanded, his lips thin with displeasure.

Looking between the two, Merric tried to smile reassuringly but sweat was beading on his forehead, "Well, as you can see, my familiar is not with me right now so Marth's won't always be with him either. As for what his will look like, I cannot say my Lady Queen. Every journeyman must summon his own familiar, and because every person is different they summon one unique to them."

Marth saw his father starting to open his mouth to ask something more, so he looked at Merric and suggested, "We should probably get going. It's not good to keep the Heads waiting."

Merric nodded his head, relieved, "Yes, we probably should." Looking back at Marth's mother and father, he gave them a respectful bow, "Wonderful seeing you again, Your Majesties. I hope your stay at the Tower is enjoyable."

Already starting to edge away, Marth added, "I'll see you again later." He didn't wait to hear a reply, beginning to thread his way through the crowd. Merric was right on his heels, sticking close so they wouldn't be separated. Marth doubted the Heads would even bother with him if he showed up without his friend.

Once they were outside the hall of Pinnacles in a wide hallway, Merric gestured for them to go right, "I see your father hasn't changed much."

Marth barked a humorless laugh, "You expected him to?"

Shrugging his shoulders, Merric guided them down a smaller hall branching off the one they were walking down, "I thought maybe since you're older he would be a bit less abrupt with you."

"If only," Marth mumbled bitterly, scrubbing at his forehead to ward of the tiredness seeping into him, "but there's no use wishing for something that will never happen. So what does a summoning involve?"

"Well, all the necessary components should already be present and set up properly, so all you should need to do is invoke the magic."

"Wonderful." Lapsing into silence, Marth frowned at the floor as he walked beside Merric. It would be strange, having a familiar with him. He knew Merric's Excalibur well, in fact liked the wind elemental quite a lot, but having another living being tied to him through what amounted to be a soul-link? It was terrifying if he were to be truthful with himself.

When he'd first come to the Tower he'd seen a mage brought in who was weeping and raving in equal amounts, his mind broken to splinters. The man's familiar had been killed in a battle with a dark sorcerer, a violent death in any circumstance. In the three years since Marth had never seen that mage in the Tower, nor would anyone tell him what had happened to the man.

It was easy to see why the thought of having a familiar was not appealing to him. Besides, he might end up with one that was a smart-ass or sadistic or strange. No, not appealing at all, "Can I refuse to do this?"

For a moment Merric didn't reply then said, "No, you can't. If you do, you'll be put out of the Tower immediately and stripped of your rank."

Marth sighed, his shoulders slumping, "Great."

Merric put a comforting hand on Marth's shoulder, "Having a familiar is not as bad as you're imagining it to be. I would be lost without Excalibur, honest truth."

Shrugging again, Marth glared sideways at him, "There's no guarantee my familiar will be nearly as nice as Excalibur."

"No, there's not," Merric rolled his eyes then glared back, "and it would serve you right to get the most pig-headed familiar out there with the way you go on." Stopping, he pointed to the double doors at the end of the hall, "And now the moment of truth. Let's go."

Marth trailed in behind Merric as they entered the room. It was a windowless chamber, dark except where candles glowed in limbed stands. In the center of the smooth stone floor an intricate diagram was drawn, words written in the archaic language of magic interspersing the designs. The eight Heads, one of them the Centrum, were standing ringed around the design in the eight points of the compass. Their faces were all serious masks and not a word was spoken by them until the Centrum said, "Master Mage Merric, you may wait outside. You will be called when the summoning is complete."

Again no one spoke until the door closed behind Merric then the Centrum spoke again, "Journeyman Marth, please move to the center of the Ag Glaoch Eitseáil*."

Suppressing the butterflies threatening to fly up his throat, Marth moved to the center of the design, keeping his eyes locked with the Centrum's. When he was in place, the old man nodded, "Good. Now I'm sure Merric has told you what you will be doing in here. This is a very important moment for a mage, since the familiar you call will be your lifelong companion. You know the chant, correct?"

All Marth could make himself do was nod.

"Good." The Centrum stated, then gestured at Marth, "You may begin when ready, Journeyman."

Marth's tongue felt like leather in his mouth, the inside coated with cotton. Begin when he was ready? Well he wasn't freaking ready and he probably never would be! This wasn't some game or an exercise, this was something that would affect the rest of his life. But what choice did he have? None, like always.

Firming his shoulders, his let a breath gust from his nose and closed his eyes. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad if he didn't have to watch. Slipping into the empty state of mind he entered when practicing with his sword, Marth spoke the first part of the chant. Immediately the magic dwelling inside him ignited with a spark, rising up to rush through his every pore. It would have surprised him if he could be surprised in this state of mind; his magic had never responded this quickly before.

As he began the second part of the chant, he vaguely heard the Heads start up a separate chant. That would be the spell which would contain the creature he called long enough for him to bond it. A summoned creature escaping hadn't happened in hundreds of years but there was no reason to tempt fate. He would never live down the shame of his creature was the first to break the record. Though he hadn't wanted to do this in the first place, he would not fail now that he'd begun.

The third part of the chant was the toughest; complex and long. Marth could already feel his magic drawing something here, to the Ag Glaoch Eitseáil; from the force he felt the creature must be resisting fiercely. He hoped that wasn't as bad as a sign as it seemed. Oh please, let him get something good that wouldn't cause him too many problems.

The last harsh sylable falling from his lips, Marth heaved for breath, sweat plastering his hair and clothes to him. Around him there was deathly silence; he felt fear prick him and his eyes flickered madly under his closed eyelids. Oh god, what if he had failed to summon anything? But he had felt his magic, felt the spell work. He couldn't have failed.

His doubts were smashed in the next second when a rage-filled scream pierced the air. Eyes flying open, Marth gazed in utter disbelief at the creature crouched across from mismatched eyes, the right a putrid yellow-green iris surrouded by red and the left a solid, milky white glowered balefully at him.

As his mind took in the entirety of what he was seeing Marth felt himself automatically recoil in horror. This _thing_ was disgusting, loathsome, **bizarre**. There were huge, ribbed wings longer than the length of its body, and a whip-like, barbed tail lashing back and forth through the air. Both were attached to a body with skin an ashen grey in color; all of it covering corded muscle, no spare fat to be found and the ribs and joints forming prominent ridges. Hands and feet were tipped with large, cruel claws that glittered coal black in the light from the spell and candles.

However its face was the worst. On the right half the features looked as if someone had come and changed them so they resembled the razor edge of a sword. In contrast the left side, with its empty eye, was surrounded by skin that seemed made of metal or stone. The features on this side were muted, more like a suggestion of features, though they were experiencing no trouble in conveying the same demonic rage as their counterparts. Splitting both sides was a mouth wider than normal, the edges half-way up the cheek, which was filled with needlelike fangs. All of it was enhanced by the lank, tangled, so dark a brown it was almost black hair that was cut in jagged chunks which fell around its head. To tie together the overall appearance, there were two ridged horns that shifted in color from blood red to maroon curving out from its forehead before curling back and ending in wicked points up in the air.

Marth shook his head again hard, barely noticing the leather wrapped hilt of a sword peaking up over its shoulder before muttering a prayer under his breath as he met the demon's eyes again. That was the only thing this creature in front of him could be. Why his summoning had called a demon he couldn't fathom. He hadn't even ever studied the darker arts of magic, nor did he have a wish to. So a demon...it just...it made no sense!

"There has to be some mistake." He insisted, shifting his gaze to the Centrum and glaring at the old man for all he was worth.

"I was thinkin' the same thing."

Marth's head whipped back to the demon, his glare meeting its glower. He refused to acknowledge the shiver creeping up his spine from the sound of the demon's voice; like how rusted metal would sound if it could speak mixed with dead tree limbs creaking in a raging wind. There was no way he would form a familiar bond with this _thing_! If he had to listen to that voice every time it spoke, he would go mad, "Silence beast. Your opinion isn't wanted."

"Journeyman Marth!" the Centrum thundered, his face a stormcloud of disapproval, "That is no way to speak to the being who was called by your spell. You should be honored a demon answered; they make fearsomely powerful familiars and the Tower is sorely lacking them. Now finish the bonding or I will banish you from the Tower and tell your father his son was too cowardly to bond a familiar."

And what was he supposed to say to that? No? Hah, that would be the biggest mistake of his life. He would never be able to show his face to his father again. Heaving a disgruntled sigh through his nose, Marth started to search inside his pockets for something he could use to bond the demon. Most people chose to use a piece of jewelry of some kind; an earring or a ring.

"Bonding?" The demon hissed, his wings opening somewhat and his tail thumping the ground in agitation, "Not happening." Suddenly, the thing lunged towards the Centrum, his hand drawn back to slash the old man to shreds. An inch from the Centrum, the demon's hand struck a wall of magic which flashed golden at the impact. Shrieking, it retreated back from the wall, its eyes promising death to everyone in the room when it got free.

A jewel…that was it! Shifting his hand to a small pouch on his belt inside his robes, Marth slipped his hand inside and grabbed the smooth, cool stone his mother had given him when he left for the Tower. Pulling it out, he brought it up to eye-level to inspect it. The blue-green jewel was opaque, the colors strong and vibrant as they almost seemed to swirl inside it. Perfectly circular in shape, it was only half of a whole; the entire jewel having at some point in time been cut in half.

At the time when his mother had given it to him, she had told him it was called the Fire Emblem and that he should only use it in times of great need. Well if this wasn't a time of great need then he didn't know what was. Nodding to himself, Marth locked his gaze back on the demon. Murmuring the bonding spell under his breath, Marth watched the creature lunge at the containment spell again, screaming its fury.

Spell ready, he silently crept up behind the demon. He was glad the Centrum was keeping the thing's attention by speaking to it, otherwise it probably would have turned on him and ripped him limb from limb. Slowly, quietly, he got behind and to the side of it, the Fire Emblem clutched in his hand as it vibrated with magical energy.

Just as the thing spotted him, he leapt forward, slapping his hand to the side of the demon's head. Thankfully he had aimed right and the Fire Emblem was pressed to the demon's temple, flat side lying against the skin. Before the demon could jerk its head away, he knotted his fingers in its greasy hair to hold it in place.

Forcing its eyes to meet his, he demanded in a hard voice, "What is your name, demon?"

Bristling, its wings snapping open, the creature snarled and started, "Fuc—," but its jaw seized up as the bonding spell settled into its skin and forced it to say, "Searbh."

Lips curling in a small, triumphant smile, Marth said, "Well Searbh, my name is Marth Lowell, the Prince of Altea and a Journeyman Mage of Tower Arcanum."

"I care, why?" the demon sneered.

Marth smirked at it, "Because from this moment forth, you are now my familiar."

The Fire Emblem flared. Pulling his hand back, Marth watched in fascination as it turned white hot with heat. Searbh screamed, clapping its own hand where Marth's had been and falling to its knees. From underneath the demon's hand, black crawled out to form a swirling tattoo centered on the demon's yellow-green on red eye, the edges ending in sharp points. When the black was finished forming, thin golden streaks outlined the black then spilled into it, making intricate scrollwork inside the boundaries.

He'd never seen the bond mark a familiar so visibly, so he looked to the Centrum and asked, "Is this supposed to happen?"

The old man replied over Searbh's pained groaning, "It is, though it rarely does. A mark so complex is almost unheard of, but it is a good thing. It means the bond between you cannot be broken unless you break it."

"Flaming pieces of steaming horse shit!" Searbh cursed, glaring at them through his lashes, "I'll pay you back for this." His clawed hand was still pressed to his left temple, but his wings were folded tightly to his back now. The thump of his tail striking the floor was loud in the stuffy room.

"No, you won't," Marth stated, running a hand through his hair, "because I'm telling you not to. Centrum, if you could please release the containment spell?"

Marth felt the spell fall and he walked out of the Ag Glaoch Eitseáil, heading straight for the door, "Come along Searbh, it's time for bed."

Though the demon threw threats at him, it followed on his heels like a trained dog heeling its master.

* * *

**Lynx: Mwu~haha~haha~ I feel so proud of myself. Only chapter 2 and already 17 pages in word. **

**Link: Some would argue longer doesn't necessarily mean better**

**Lynx: (glares) Well, I like long chapters, so too damn bad.**

**Marth: It would figure your tiny brain would follow by the saying of, "bigger is better".**

**Lynx: (fumes) It does not! And my brain is not tiny!**

**Link: (sighs, ignoring the other two as they continue to argue) Well readers, please R&R with your thoughts on the chapter if you feel so inclined. A warning: flames go to keep this crazy bitch warm at night so don't waste your time. **

*Calling etching in Irish.


	4. I Need a Larger Stick to Shake

**Lynx: I have no idea what to do for the author's notes here…**

**Link: You fail. Epically.**

**Lynx: (shrugs) Meh, if you say so. It's just this song I found. The thing is so stuck in my head….and it's so dirty! XD I love it!**

**Marth: Shit. (Looks at Link) You realize what this means right?**

**Link: (Shudders) I wish I didn't.**

**Lynx: Oh shut up, both of you. (Stares hard at them) And you know it applies to both of you beautifully. (Cackles)**

**Link: (Glares) No, it doesn't!**

**Lynx: Uh-huh, sure. Just keep denying it. Anyways I own nothing other than plot and OCs. The usual warnings apply. And if anyone's curious, the song I'm addicted to is Flesh by Simon Curtis.**

* * *

**Chapter 3: I Need a Larger Stick to Shake**

_**Marth's POV:**_

The late afternoon was lovely, full of birds chirping and the scent of flowers in full bloom under the warmth of the sun. It was too bad Marth had a headache pounding his brain which could put a massive drum to shame. Sometimes he imagined what his life would be like if he'd never come to the Tower. He had the sneaking suspicion that he would have experienced a noticeable decrease in headaches.

Everything in this place drove him to distraction: the instructors, the spells…the other students. Now he had one more thing in the Tower giving him an increased heart rate. The worst was that his new stressor would be going with him when he left this accursed place.

Why had he ever let the Centrum bully him into bonding a demon as his familiar? Oh yes, because he was far too concerned with making his family proud; one of his few failings, unfortunately.

Marth's by-now permanent scowl was being directed at Searbh, his eyes narrowed in a threatening glare. The winged demon was crouched across the inset bathing pool across from Marth, mismatched eyes glowering back and the top lip of his wider-than-natural mouth lifted in a snarl. The cursed demon was already proving just how damned hard he was going to make the rest of Marth's life

By refusing to bathe….

It was just his luck to be saddled with a stubborn familiar who smelled like he'd been living in a refuse heap…willingly. Seriously, why couldn't his father have sent him to tactical school? He was good at military strategy, understood it intrinsically; unlike chanting like a crazed madman and waving his fool hands around in the air hoping to hear a fly's fart or some such other useless nonsense.

Taking a rough breath through his nose, Marth grunted. "Get in the water."

Searbh's upper lip lifted more, the light in the bathing chamber reflecting off his bond mark as he tilted his head back. "No."

The corner of Marth's eye twitched, and he didn't even feel ashamed at his loss of control as he growled, "Get in the damn water!"

Searbh's chin simply tilted up higher, showing his defiance. Eyes thinning even more, Marth glanced down at the water, debating, and then met the demon's arrogant gaze again. "I command you to get in the water, Searbh."

A hiss sounded sibilantly from Searbh, his wings opening as if he was going to fly off. But after a moment of fighting the command, Searbh muttered and one of his clawed feet reached out to slip into the somewhat steaming water. Marth smirked in satisfaction but frowned as he noticed Searbh was still wearing his rags and sword. "You need to take off your…clothing. That includes the baldric."

Searbh shot him a nasty look, eyes flashing. Marth stared back, still frowning. Grumbling, Searbh looked down at his clothes, and did something Marth wouldn't have thought the demon capable of. He pursed his lips as he fingered the ragged, filthy cloth covering his stomach. Then he casually tore it off, threw it off to the side, and did the same to his used-to-be trousers. He made no move to do the same with the cloth bandages wrapping his hands, but Marth didn't say anything. Those at least were in fairly good condition and would probably benefit from a dip in the water.

"Why do I need a fucking bath anyways?"

Marth rolled his eyes at the demon's sulky tone then took a moment to admire the soft beauty of the bathing chamber in order to regain his calm before answering, "Because you smell as if you roll in piles of horse-shit on a daily basis." Oops, alright so maybe he wasn't calm after all.

Searbh's eyes set in a sullen glare, the tip of his barbed tail flicking the air. "Well, at least I don't smell like rose petals. What sort of man smells like a whore? I thought you were a mage, not a call-boy."

Marth's eye twitched. '_He did not just call me a male-whore_.'

Familiars were supposed to be caring, supportive, understanding…oh, who was he trying to kid? Scowling, Marth brought up his magic and drew a black sigil in the air. A dark cloud coalesced into a hand behind Searbh's back, planted itself between the demon's shoulder blades and shoved him into the pool. It was perhaps the funniest sight Marth had ever seen as Searbh flailed, his wings and tail jerking spasmodically, and fell headfirst into the water. Even the splash which soaked the front of his tunic was worth it.

Laughing uproariously, Marth clutched his middle, wheezing. "You should have seen your face."

Searbh surfaced and glared at him, coughing from the water he'd snorted up his nose when he went under. "Don't go to sleep tonight, asshole," he wheezed. The threat was followed by his tail lashing the water hard, splashing more water at Marth's face.

Getting the face-full, Marth choked as the liquid went down his throat. Toppling backwards onto his ass, he returned Searbh's glare through watering eyes. "You can't do anything to harm me because of the bond, so I promise I'll sleep like a baby." Wiping his face with the sleeve of his dark blue tunic, Marth added, "You really shouldn't make threats that you can't keep."

Searbh growled in reply then turned his back to Marth. He waded over to the other side; wings tucked in tightly, and went over to the bowl full of soap sand sitting near the lip of the pool. Searbh lifted his body up onto the ledge so he could sit, grabbed a handful of the sand, dipped it into the water, and lathered it up until it was foamy. Marth gave the demon privacy, turning his head away.

It wasn't till Marth heard another splash of water that he looked back at Searbh. He wasn't looking for long because his familiar slipped completely under the water, submerging himself. When the demon resurfaced, Marth had to do a double-take and convince himself he was looking at the same creature as the one from just moments before. Without the layers of filth and grime coating him, Searbh did not look nearly so grotesque. In fact, now that Marth could really get a clear view of Searbh's face, he could see that there were more hints of humanity present than he'd thought there were previously. And that made Marth's skin crawl, looking at what should be familiar but wasn't.

Hell obviously had a very sick sense of humor.

The observation left Marth glaring heatedly at the demon in an attempt to cover up his urge to turn tail and flee as far and as fast as he could. Reaching up, he clamped his hand around his journeyman medallion to reassure himself. "Don't forget to scrub your hair."

Again, Searbh did something Marth never would have expected from a demon; he stuck his tongue out.

Gaping at him, Marth demanded, "Did you really just stick your tongue out at me?"

Searbh bared his fanged teeth in a sharp grin as he scooped up another handful of soap-sand and started scrubbing it into his hair. "Got a problem with it, bastard?"

"Besides how childish and ridiculous it makes you look?" Marth retorted back, lifting a condescending eyebrow. "No, I don't have a problem with it. Really kills the demon persona though."

Searbh made a rude gesture at him then dunked under the water, only the top parts of his wings still above the water. When he surfaced again, Marth grumbled at him, "You're clean enough; you can get out now."

Cocking a slim, now light brown eyebrow; Searbh shrugged, climbed out of the pool and stared across at Marth. "Are you always this damn moody?"

Marth rolled his eyes. "I'm the moody one?" If either of them was moody, then it would be the demon. One minute he was snarling, then next acting like a small child. The creature had a serious case of dissonant personalities. And Marth had to live with him for the rest of his natural life.

God, he really fucking hated the Tower right now.

As if ridicule and constant humiliation weren't enough; now they had to add on a mule-headed, crass, annoying, bat-shit crazy demon to make his life here even worse. Speaking of making his life worse, he'd just remembered. "Hurry up and put on those new clothes over there. We have a practicum session starting in half an hour and I don't want to be late."

Searbh frowned back at Marth, but his mismatched eyes followed Marth's pointing finger over to a chair against the wall where some smallclothes, a pair of black trousers, a white tunic and a plain brown belt lay folded neatly in the seat. The demon opened his mouth to say something but Marth beat him to it, "They've already been adjusted for your… more unique features. I might have to help you into them though."

He must have been surprised by the attention paid to the details because Searbh went over to the chair in silence. He picked up the smallclothes first, looking them over with an intense but unreadable emotion on his face. Marth, not really interested in why the demon was so fascinated by underclothes, came over beside him and said, "Hand them to me, I'll help you…" Here he paused to furrow his eyebrows in consternation. "…Slip your tail in."

Turning to face Marth, Searbh handed the smallclothes to him, spread out his arms and scowled. "Fine, go ahead."

Brows furrowing more, Marth's eyes slipped down in an unconscious movement, giving him a very close-up and personal view of Searbh's manhood which was semi-erect from the chill of the air after the warmth of the water. Frowning at it, Marth didn't catch himself in time to prevent the first thought that came to mind from spilling out. "You're male?"

Looking down at where Marth's gaze was fixed, Searbh retorted, "No shit. Am I not supposed to be?"

"Well no," Marth said slowly, shaking his head, "I guess I just wasn't expecting that." Why he hadn't expected it was beyond him, since from the moment he'd first seen the demon he'd thought of it as a 'he'. "Can demons reproduce like humans then?"

"Don't know." Searbh replied honestly, shrugging slightly, "I have other interests personally."

Shrugging, Marth muttered, "I'm not even going to ask what those might be." To stop Searbh from supplying an answer anyways, Marth knelt down, snatched up one of the demon's clawed feet and fed it through one of the short legs of the smallclothes he was holding open. Then, when Searbh didn't immediately supply his other foot, Marth smacked his calf. "The least you could do is lift your own foot."

As he glanced up, Marth briefly caught the demon's eye roll before Searbh put his foot through the other leg. Standing, Marth drew the underwear midway up Searbh's thighs then went around to his backside to feed his long tail through the hole the tailor had added especially for this purpose. Just to be vindictive, as he finished pulling the smallclothes up to Searbh's waist, Marth let the waistband snap against the demon's grey skin.

Giving a small yelp, Searbh jumped away. Rubbing the skin above the waistband on his hip, Searbh turned an annoyed glare on the prince. "You're mean."

"Your point?" Marth drawled, scratching at his chin, "It's not like you can do anything about it."

Growling, Searbh lashed out at Marth's face, his claws ready to dig deep furrows in the man's flesh. Centimeters away his hand stopped of its own accord, the muscles in his arm rigid with strain. A smirk tugging at his lips, Marth tapped Searbh's open palm with a finger and chuckled. "What's the matter? Weren't you going to claw my face off? Punish me for my human insolence?"

Searbh dropped his arm, a frustrated keen coming from him. Flexing the fingers of his hand, the demon glowered hatefully at Marth and spat at his feet. "I will find a way to fucking kill you, you'll see."

Lifting an eyebrow, Marth casually backhanded his familiar. Reeling from the force, Searbh stumbled and fell to one knee. Pressing a hand to his face, Searbh stared at Marth in surprise. Looking back coldly, Marth stated, "Never threaten me again. Understood?"

For a moment it seemed to Marth the demon would spit again, but then Searbh dropped his gaze to floor, muttering, "Yes."

Unsatisfied, Marth reached down, buried his fingers in Searbh's light brown hair and wrenched his head back so their eyes were forced to meet. "Yes, what?"

Face twisting, Searbh sneered, defiance in his eyes, but nonetheless said, "Yes Master."

Letting go of Searbh's hair, Marth patted the demon's uncovered cheek. "Good boy. Now let's finish getting you dressed."

* * *

Fidgeting, Searbh uncomfortably tugged on his right trouser leg. Apparently, the tailor who had made his new clothes wasn't a fan of the concept of wiggle room. It had been years since he'd worn anything that was quite so snug in more intimate areas, or more importantly, around the base of his tail. Trying to keep the grimace off his face every time his tail moved was proving to be a great test in control, and he had to be passing with flying fucking colors.

He had to admit to himself, though only private-like in his mind, that he did look pretty nice. The fact had made him scowl the entire time while Marth had first cut then brushed his hair for him using a mirror. Of course then the damn bastard had to spoil everything by saying at least his face hadn't cracked the glass upon sight. Honestly, there were a lot of demons who looked a hell of a lot worse than he did.

Stalling in his thoughts, Searbh glanced around at the other familiars in the room. Compared to them, he was sort of…well, ugly. In fact, other than the imp perched on the shoulder of the mage teaching this class, he was the only other demon and since the imp was a forest one even it looked less demon-y than him. Although he probably looked uglier than usual since he was standing next to a water nymph, which wasn't fair at all…

And why was he even bothering to think about any of this in the first place? He should be focusing on trying to figure out how he was going to break the damned bond. Right now, his only idea was to make Ice Princess regret making the bond so much that he cut it off. The drawback with that, however, was that it could potentially take a long time; he needed the bond gone as soon as possible. If there was a delay in the plan Master would be furious. Not that Master probably wasn't already furious. He hadn't completed the objective yet, but it wasn't his fault a stupid summoning had caught him up. Master would just have to…oh, who was he kidding?

Fuck, Master was going to kill him for taking so long on his assignment. Just thinking about the punishment he was facing when he returned made him cringe. Being attached to one's limbs was a serious disadvantage when you lived in Hell. At least Master had more use for him whole than in pieces.

With that "comforting" thought in mind, Searbh returned his attention to Ice Princess, who was tugging insistently on his sleeve. Yanking his arm away, he snapped, "What?!"

Marth, not affected whatsoever by glares or fangs, leveled an unimpressed look on him and stated, "Senior Gregor asked if you would introduce yourself, as well as provide an interesting fact."

Everyone was staring at him. Growling, Searbh crossed his arms over his chest, glowered at the mages and flipped off Senior Gregor for good measure. "Name's Searbh, and the place I call home is known as the fucking Dark World, or just Hell if you're feeling lazy. I'm what you mages term as an eternally damned, bell-fucking-cracked demon; devourer of souls and bringer of darkness. Something interesting is that I hate all mage-kind and want to tear you into small, bloody scraps." Holding out his hands, he grinned menacingly at them. "But that's no reason we can't all be friends still, right?"

From by his side, he heard the quiet sigh Marth let out and he could imagine the bastard was rolling his eyes. Well, what did he fucking expect; for him to play Mr. Nicely Calm and Tamed demon pet? Ha, well Ice Princess would have to wait till his dying day to see that. If there were three things Searbh wasn't, they were nice, calm and _tame_.

Ugh…just thinking the words made bile climb up his throat.

Up at the front of the group, Senior Gregor cleared his throat, shifting his massive flabs of fat from foot to foot, saying, "Well, I suppose that counts as an interesting fact although I think many of us could have gone without hearing it." The last part was muttered under his breath and the man frowned unhappily at Searbh. "It is a pleasure to meet you Searbh. The Tower is glad to have you."

Sneering, Searbh grunted in a non-committal way. He couldn't care less whether the Tower was glad to have him or if any of the fairy asses in here wouldn't be able to sleep at night now. No, the only thing he cared about in the Tower (and only because he was being fucking forced to) was the uptight bastard standing next to him.

Fate must be laughing her ass off right now at him.

Hell, if he was Fate he'd be laughing his ass off too… but he wasn't and it fucking sucked to be on the receiving end. People weren't kidding when they said Fate was a bitch. Only a bitch would have a sense of humor sick enough to set up a situation where he was practically a slave to a mage with royal blood. Although knowing his luck, Fate was probably in cahoots with those _girls_ and the real shit was going to hit the windmill anytime.

"Do you think you could be a little more foul-mouthed? I didn't hear fuck after every word."

Repressing the urge to growl, Searbh glanced from the corner of his "normal" eye at a blonde haired, blue-eyed young man lounging against the wall. He was a striking figure; lean, tall and very handsome with his defined features and bright coloring. It was too bad those good looks were marred by gruesome wounds littering every inch of him. His right boot was missing, and from hip to calf on the outside of his leg the skin was a glistening red interspersed by spots of bone white. On his abdomen bloody gashes crisscrossed each other, looking like a macabre child's game. Both arms bore the savaging of teeth, the left missing an entire chunk on the forearm.

Those were nothing compared to the gaping, dark hole in the center of his chest and the three long, jagged tears running from forehead to jaw over the empty socket of the left eye obscured by the tattered flaps of what used to be eyelids. Other light wounds littered the young man's body: bruises, scrapes and small cuts. He was a myriad patchwork tapestry of brutal, physical violence.

Searbh always thought it was a little surprising the young man was still covered decently, since his clothing was in even worse shape than his body. Then he would remember the man was dead anyways, and it really didn't fucking matter if he was stark naked or not since Searbh was the only one who could see the bastard in the first place. Still, if he'd had to look at a naked, mauled ghost every damn day he'd lose whatever mental coherency he possessed. He enjoyed agony and death just as much as the next demon, but he had to draw a line somewhere.

"Ha! You, drawing a line!" The blonde's barked laugh was humorless, his one blue eye dark where it could be seen through his thick bangs. "I haven't heard a joke that funny in years."

Flexing his finger, Searbh snarled mentally, "_Do you mind? I'm trying to learn something from the fat tub of lard up front._"

A torn, blonde eyebrow lifted skeptically. "I think a rock can learn more from him than you ever could."

"_Do you ever shut up?_"

"No." The young man pushed off from the wall, pointing an accusatory finger at Searbh. "Thanks to you I can't do anything _other_ than talk. Or pass through walls. So since you're the one I have to thank for this _wonderful_ existence, I'm going to follow you around and talk till the end of Time." Satisfied he'd gotten his point across; he bared his teeth in a vicious smile.

Searbh's eye twitched. He hated having conversations with the Hero when others were around. Being the only one able to see the man made it almost a forgone conclusion that others thought he was crazy when he started talking to empty air. He was demented, not crazy. "_You are the most annoying whoreson I've ever had the misfortune to kill. I hope that hole in your chest still hurts like a bitch._"

That won a glare from the Hero. "Abomination."

"_Bitch._"

"Hell-spawned succubus."

Searbh couldn't stop a growl this time; how dare the little wretch compare him to such a weak, grasping demon. "_Useless, imaginary, shitty excuse for a goddess-damned Wisp._"

The Hero's nostrils flared, a sign Searbh's insult had touched a nerve, but he recovered quickly and sniped back, "Oh, look at the dumb brute, learning to use big words. Too bad for him he's an irredeemably vile simpleton _and_ a fecal flesh-creeping aberration of nature." Face softening into a caring expression, the blonde asked in a fake, sincere voice, "Do you suffer from mental constipation if you think too hard, halfwit?"

Searbh's patience snapped. Giving a mental cry of rage, he turned to look head-on at the Hero and hissed. "_At least I'm not the fucktard who failed and got stabbed through the fucking chest by said halfwit'._" Smirking at the malicious snarl on the Hero's face, Searbh crossed his arms over his chest and added, "_Just proves you're about as useful as balls on a priest, assclown_."

Furiously, the Hero opened his mouth to make a scathing retort, but Searbh's attention was abruptly claimed by a hard smack to the back of his head. Whirling, he lashed out at the person who'd dared to touch him. His hand froze in mid-air again, a repeat of what had happened earlier in the bath. Breathing heavily, Searbh demanded in a tense voice, "Why did you hit me?"

"Because, monster," Marth replied, jaw tight, "Senior Gregor has dismissed us to practice on our own and I've been trying to get your attention for the past minute or so."

Behind him, Searbh heard the Hero chuckle, taunting, "Look who's been put on a leash."

He ignored the Hero though, the only sign he'd heard being the irritated flick of his tail. He didn't need Ice Princess finding out about his invisible ghost, or worse, thinking he was completely insane. Insanity tended to make people paranoid, and he didn't need Marth deciding he'd prefer his familiar dead.

"The fat man was fucking boring. I was thinkin' of the different ways I could kill him."

"To the exclusion of all else." Marth drawled, not bothering to ask.

Searbh smirked. "Ya. I'm very thorough."

Wrinkling his nose in faint disgust, Marth gestured for Searbh to follow as he left the classroom. "Wonderful."

With a roll of his eyes, Searbh trailed after the prince. The only reason he did so without complaint was because he wanted to leave behind all the damn sunshine flooding the classroom. Though once they were alone in the corridor, he made sure to stalk Marth. A gleeful smile split his face when the brat's shoulders tensed.

Well, Ice Princess had best get used to being uncomfortable. It was his damn fault in the first place. "_I'm going to make him regret every fucking minute I waste following him around_." Searbh thought, wings rustling in agitation.

"Where're we going?"

Heaving a sigh, Marth muttered, "We are leaving the Tower so that I can show you to my family. They are staying on a noble's estate an hour's ride from here."

It took a moment for what Marth had said to sink in. "Wait…what?"

* * *

_**Ganondorf POV:**_

The world was rocking. It felt like he was being tossed to and fro, with no care whatsoever for the nausea clutching at his stomach. By the Desert Goddess, one of those earth-shakes he'd been told about must be happening! Oh, what had those crotchety old witches said he should do if he ever got caught in one of these? All he could think about was the earth just opening up and swallowing him.

Except, he wasn't somewhere where earth existed, so there was no way it could be shaking. He was locked in a dimensional pocket outside the weft of Time. Or at least, he had been there when he'd last been aware of his surroundings. Alright, so either he'd lost his mind finally, or he was outside of the Sage's seal and back in the world; his vote was on the first option.

All at once the rocking stopped. In spite of the splitting headache he had, Ganondorf clawed his way back to consciousness. Groggily awake, he curled around his stomach, trying to settle its protest.

"Oh, so you're still alive."

The sound of another voice startled him so badly that he shot up to his feet, eyes wide. Immediately he regretted it. The world started spinning, the blood rushed from his head, and he heaved up his stomach contents.

There was an annoyed "tsk" before the person with him, a man by the voice, said, "Nice going, kid. You'd better be ready to clean that up when we get back to town. I'm certainly not going to."

Ganondorf wiped the back of a hand over his mouth, grimacing at the taste. "Who are you referring to as a 'kid'?" Perhaps there was a child with them and that was who the man was talking to.

"You, smart one."

This was an odd development. Apparently he was traveling with someone who was sun-touched. Well, there were worse things. Feeling he could open his eyes without getting dizzy, he glared at the red-haired young man sitting across from him, lifted a hand to point, and began, "I am at least―," then stopped as he stared at his small, dark-skinned hand. The fingers lacked any callouses and they were plump with childhood softness.

Panic rising in his chest, Ganondorf extended his arm all the way. It was tiny compared to the long, powerful one he was used to seeing; it looked pathetically thin with its non-existent muscle definition. With full-blown terror, he dropped his gaze to inspect the rest of his body. He was met by the sight of tiny feet, short legs, small torso.

Head shaking, he muttered, "This can't be possible."

From his seat, the young man sighed. Then he stretched out a leg, tapped Ganondorf's foot with the toe of his boot and advised, "You should calm down. You're still in bad shape. Looked like you'd had a nasty knock to the head when we found you out in the middle of nowhere."

"_That would explain the dizziness and nausea_." Ganondorf thought, attempting to focus his mind on something other than the fact he was a child again. It didn't succeed; his mind continued ranting how this **just wasn't possible**. Yet the longer he stood there in disbelief, the more he wanted to know how he'd ended up like this. The last thing he remembered was coming out of one of his endless daydreams because he'd heard something beating against the walls of his magical prison. Everything after was a blank.

Fire and wind, but this was frustrating.

"Hey kid, are you ignoring me?"

"I am not a child!" He stomped his foot, pouting. Realizing what he'd done, Ganondorf scrubbed at his face and groaned. "Oh, what's the use? It's not as if I can prove I'm anything other than what I look like."

Or could he?

He'd been so caught up panicking that he'd forgotten about his magic. If what had been done to him was a spell then he should have no trouble breaking it. Excited, he reached inside to where his magic lived―and was met with emptiness. It was as if he'd been hit in the chest; all of the breath in his lungs whooshed out and he crumbled to his knees. Agonized, he whimpered, "It's gone."

The weight of hands on his shoulders was warm. "What's wrong? Where are you hurt?"

Fighting for breath, Ganondorf locked eyes with the young man's deep blue ones above him. He wanted to scream, rage, cry, anything. Because his magic was gone, and it wasn't fair for it to be gone. He could have handled being a kid, could've handled something worse, if he'd had his magic.

But he didn't have it, so he passed out instead.

* * *

_**Searbh POV:**_

Carriages, Searbh decided, were stupid. They were stuffy, uncomfortable, and just plain awkward, especially for someone with wings and a tail. Marth, being a prat, had forbidden him from riding on the outside of the carriage when he tried to climb out. Now he was stuck inside, his wings bent to either side of him in a painful manner, his tail curled along his leg so he could sit and be somewhat comfortable.

The situation was not improving his temper at all. To begin with he had a short fuse; if things kept up the way they were going, people were going to start dying. He would start with the son of a bitch sitting across from him in the carriage.

Mouth pulled up in a sneer, Searbh glowered at Marth. The Ice Princess looked so unaffected and remote, leaning back in his seat as he stared out the window. A light breeze was coming through the window; ruffling the prince's fine, teal hair and making his long bangs flutter above his icy blue eyes. His refined, nobles features were accentuated by the light of the early afternoon sun; the pale, unblemished quality of his skin enhancing the overall effect. Every inch of the young man spoke of his royal blood and upbringing, including his six feet of height.

He wanted to bash Marth's face in, but since he wasn't allowed to he'd settle for annoying the bastard. "Are we there yet?"

Marth didn't look away from the window; the only sign of his agitation at the question was a tightening of the skin around his eyes. "No."

Searbh heaved a put-upon sigh, griping, "But we've been in here for fucking hours."

Icy-blue eyes rolled. "It's been forty-five minutes; stop exaggerating."

"Well it feels like hours to me." He shifted, trying to find a better position. "'Sides, I don't see why I gotta meet your dumb family. I ain't some side attraction at a carnival, dammit."

Turning from the window, Marth leveled an unimpressed look on him. "You are far too dramatic for your own good. Anyway, you hardly qualify as a side attraction."

"Was that an insult?" Searbh's eyebrows furrowed as he frowned.

"Do you think it was?"

"Ya, I do."

"Then it was an insult."

Searbh stared, distrustful, at Marth's unchanged expression. "Stop mocking me, jackass."

"Who says I'm mocking you?" Marth lifted a brow.

"I am 'cause you are!"

"How do you know what my intention is when I speak?" Marth challenged, arms folding across his chest. "Are you a god?"

Glowering, Searbh muttered, "Maybe I am. So stop being such a fucking bastard if you don't want to be smited."

"That isn't even a real word." Marth pointed out. "The past tense form of smite is smote."

Growling, Searbh leaned forward. "I don't give a shit if―,"

He was interrupted by the carriage door swinging open and the footman announcing, "We've arrived, Your Highness."

A scathing glance from him had the footman scurrying out of view. Searbh snorted in amusement; at least some humans still knew to fear a demon. It'd be better if all of them did, but anything was better than nothing. And in time, all of them would fear again as they should. It was inevitable. For now though, Searbh had to obey Marth's command to climb out. Making sure to keep his wings tightly folded along his back, he slipped out of the carriage.

They were stopped outside a four-story, white and blue stone manse in a raked, gravel driveway. Spread out around them were gently rolling hills, lushly green, and a glint of light in the distance off to the west hinted at the presence of a pond or lake. The manse's architecture was tasteful: a blue tile, low-eave roof offset by masterful hints of carved flourishes on the white stone structure. It spoke to both the wealth and the elegant taste of its owners.

All of it made Searbh sneer. "Figures your parents would insist on the nicest place around. Royalty never fucking changes."

A hard smack to the back of his head was delivered as Marth reprimanded, "You do not speak ill of my family, ever. If you do so again there will be severe consequences."

Even as a snarl curled his lip, Searbh bowed his head in submission. He had no choice but to do so.

Eyeing him distastefully, Marth reached over to straighten his familiar's tunic and comb fingers through his messy hair, nerves obvious. "My father is going to have a conniption when he sees you."

Searbh stuck his tongue out. "Like I give a shit."

"I know you don't," Marth said, his tone sharp, "and that makes me dread this meeting even more."

"Good. I'd hate to see you comfortable." Searbh jeered, smirking.

Marth narrowed his eyes, gave the demon's tunic one last tug then turned towards the manse's front entrance. "You will do nothing to embarrass me while we're here. Is that clear?"

Gritting his teeth, Searbh lashed his tail. "Yes Master."

Nodding, Marth started for the short flight of steps that led to the door. Forced to heel him, Searbh glowered at the back of the prince's head as they entered the manse. Of course the door was opened for them by a smartly dressed butler whose nose was so high in the air Searbh was a little surprised a fly hadn't decided to check it out. His bad mood was assuaged a little when he saw the prissy little man jump at his appearance. Apparently Ice Princess hadn't let anyone know he was bringing a demon to this little afternoon tea party.

Well, at least this might prove to be a little interesting if nothing else.

Clearing his throat to cover the gasp he had let slip, the butler bowed to Marth. "Your Highness, your family is just down the hall in the drawing room. I will direct you and your…companion to them now."

Just before the butler turned away, Searbh leered at him. He had to stop a burst of laughter as the man blanched. Oh, he'd forgotten how much fun people could be. They made the most entertaining expressions when put on edge.

Almost fleeing, the butler strode off down the hall, hands clenched tightly in the small of his back. Throwing a warning glance over his shoulder, Marth followed after the man. Searbh chuckled with dark humor as he did so as well, and it was only a handful of minutes later before the butler was holding open a door for them.

The room beyond was of middling size, painted a warm cream, filled with bookcases along two walls, three comfortable-looking couches and a low, wooden table in the center. Though he would never admit it aloud, Searbh was relieved to see that there were only two large windows that were partially covered by thick curtains. Sunlight couldn't kill him, but it did make him feel as if hundreds of insects were crawling underneath his skin.

Seated on the left-hand couch were two women (one with the same teal colored hair as the Ice Princess) that were exquisitely beautiful in their similar features and dressed in lovely, summer gowns. Opposite them was a man who looked to be forty; immediately it was obvious he was Marth's father because his face was a heavier version of the prince's and his hair was the exact shade of his daughter and son's.

Searbh was starting to get the hint that teal hair was the mark of the Altean royal line. Well it and the fact all of them had some sort of crown banding their foreheads. Of course the king's was the thickest and crusted with painfully clear sapphires and diamonds. Looking at them, no one could ever mistake them for anything but family and nothing other than royalty.

For a moment he had to pause at the door's threshold. An unidentifiable emotion choked his throat, making it hard to breathe. He'd never felt something other than sadistic joy, rage, hate…and fear. They were the emotional make-up of his life, so he had no name to put to the emotion he was feeling now looking in at Marth's family. Confronted by this unknown, his mood soured again to a darker state than it'd been in earlier.

Unaffected by his familiar's mercurial moods, Marth went into the room and greeted his family with a smile. "Father, Mother, Elice, I see you've found a delightful estate to vacation on. Are you enjoying the fresh country air?"

"As a matter of fact we are, dear brother." Elice replied brushing long strands of hair back over her pale shoulder. "It is good to see you in better spirits than you were in yesterday."

Gesturing to the unoccupied couch, the king said, "Come sit down, Marth. I'm looking forward to making the acquaintance of your friend."

At the invitation, Searbh stepped up beside Marth and caught the grimace that briefly twisted the prince's face. Then together they went to the couch, sat and Marth introduced him, "This is my familiar, a demon calling himself by the name of Searbh."

A discreet elbow to his ribs prompted Searbh to grudgingly say, "It's nice to meet you."

"You are a very unique-looking individual, Searbh." Leaning forward, the queen tilted her head as she ran her eyes over his form. "I am especially in awe of your wings."

At the mention of them, the demon folded his wings tightly to his back. He refused to admit to a flush of pleasure at the queen's compliment, opting instead to respond in a sullen tone of voice, "Thank you, Your Majesty."

Beside him, Marth shook his head. "I apologize for Searbh's lack of courtesy Mother. He really is quite touched by your compliment."

"Why does he not say so himself, son?" The king demanded, frowning.

"Ah, well…" Marth trailed off, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "He's―,"

"There's no disrespect meant, Your Majesties. I'm still adjusting to being in the mortal world." Searbh forced a small smile on his face. Under his skin, the bond returned to quiescence, placated by his attempt to follow Marth's earlier order.

Hands clasped in her lap and eyes lit up with curiosity, Elice asked, "Is our world painful for you to live in then?"

Without conscious thought, his gaze flitted first to the windows and then to his side where Elice's brother sat. Was this world painful for him? There was no denying so…but it was beyond preferable to his own home world. The mortal world had pleasures which could never be attained in the Dark World. There was a reason humans had given it the name "hell".

There was also a reason why demons didn't disagree.

But as a demon he would rather die before agreeing with a human. "It's a change and can be inconvenient at times." There, that was a suitably non-committal and non-embarrassing answer.

"I had never thought about what it would be like to be in a different world. What is yours like?"

Incredulous, Searbh lifted both his eyebrows at the princess. As she met his gaze steadily, he found himself at a loss for a non-rude answer. Running a hand through his hair, he started to say something biting, but stopped to give Marth a "you better help me right fucking now or you'll regret the consequences" look.

Marth gestured for him to go ahead, smiling with a threatening glint in his ice blue eyes.

A small twitch developing at the corner of his eye, Searbh breathed a hard breath through his nose. Well fine, these people wanted to know what hell was like. Who was he not to oblige royalty?

"Hell, my lady, is the nightmare you can't wake up from."

* * *

_**Marth POV:**_

Marth didn't know whether to faint from relief or horror. The afternoon was going better than he could ever have hoped for but… his familiar was regaling his family with stories of Hell and its atrocities. His mother and sister, the most kind-hearted and gentle people in the world, were listening in rapt attention. The only sign they were uneasy with what they were hearing was the pinched skin around their eyes. Next to his wife, King Cornelieus sat with his arms across his chest and his brows furrowed. Marth recognized the pose for what it was: his father taking in all the information he could on a potential threat.

There was no screaming, no demands for an explanation as to why a demon was now his familiar, or any threats of disownment or death. Hell there hadn't even been fighting yet. Marth had been expecting his father and Searbh to begin spitting at each other the moment they met. It seemed the bond had more of a leash on Searbh than he could have hoped for.

He'd have to do something nice for the monster when they returned to the Tower. What exactly, he had no clue, but a reward for good behavior was due to the creature. Perhaps a trinket or a treat―

"Most all sources of water in Hell are despoiled or poisoned. The few clean pools are jealously guarded. A vast majority of the denizens of Hell survive by drinking the blood of other, weaker creatures. Other kinds of drinks are rarer than even clean water. Wine, ale, juice," Marth glanced at Searbh as he paused, noting the brief flash of longing in his red eye, before the demon finished his list, "milk. Only the most powerful and influential of demons have them and they guard the secret of their supply with violence." Visibly, Searbh restrained himself from adding a string of curses, settling for growling deep in his throat.

_'He wants…milk?'_ Incredulous, Marth stared at his familiar. A demon; a destructive, unholy monster, was angry because it couldn't have milk. If this was all it took to appease Searbh then perhaps life with him would not be as unbearable he'd imagined.

"Marth love, would you please disabuse Lady Fayette of this ridiculous notion she has of you bringing a demon to her…oh my."

Then again, maybe it would be.

From the entrance to the room there was a small shriek, quickly stifled. A flurry of tapping heels before Shiida entered his vision. Her face was flushed of color as she leaned towards him, being careful to not look directly at Searbh. "Marth, I realize being a mage is your duty, but keeping a demon for a pet is going too far."

"He isn't a pet, Shiida. He's my familiar." Annoyance struggled to show in Marth's voice. He forced it down.

"Hmmph, well if you must have a familiar, could you not get yourself one that is less…malevolent?"

Tense silence descended on the room. Marth didn't know about everyone else, but he was fixedly staring at a shelf of books. Why, by the gods, had his fiancé decided she had to express her opinion now?

A low, gravel-filled chuckled came from beside him and Marth turned to regard Searbh with dread. The demon was shaking his head, a dangerous smile curving his lips. "This bitch knows how to give a compliment. I'd be one sorry, fucking excuse for a demon if I wasn't malevolent looking."

Oh gods. Marth shut his eyes, sending up the prayer that Searbh hadn't actually said what he had. A vain hope, he was aware of this, but hope was a vain thing to begin with.

"My, my, what a filthy mouth you have on you. Not that I would be expecting anything else from a dumb, hulking beast."

The attention of everyone in the room riveted onto the woman standing at the threshold of the door. Dipping one of her slim, delicate shoulders, Lady Fayette tucked one of her light blonde bangs behind her ear. Her full, pink lips were turned down in a disapproving frown. "If one appears to others as dumb then one usually is in reality. Such was the case with my perception of the demon."

"Did you just call me stupid?"

Marth looked between Lady Fayette and Searbh, choked to silence by the tension created by their locked gazes. Lady Fayette released a light laugh in response to Searbh's demand and quipped, "The fact you ask for confirmation is undeniable proof that you indeed are. Perhaps I should state it more plainly though. Yes, I did just call you stupid. Was that simple enough?"

"You're going to regret that, you ugly, two-bit whore. When I get my hands on you, your life will be nothing but agonized misery―"

His feet were under him before he realized he was moving. Grabbing Searbh's collar, Marth dragged the struggling, protesting demon past Lady Fayette (who stepped out of the way) and into the hall, heading towards the front door. He didn't stop to call a goodbye to his family or even to allow the butler to open the door for him. Opening the door himself, he marched over to carriage and all but threw Searbh into it.

Not giving the monster enough time to be more difficult than usual, he shoved the demon repeatedly to force it to climb the rest of the way in. Then Marth got into the carriage as well, rapped the roof and sank his face into his hands as the vehicle began rattling down the drive. Taking deep breaths was doing nothing to calm the panic and humiliation eating away inside him. "Why can't you ever keep your mouth shut?"

Dragging his body up onto the seat opposite of Marth's, Searbh gave the prince a filthy glare, "Why don't you ever say what you're actually thinking?"

Marth's face shot up to glower at his familiar, spitting, "What are you going on about, creature?"

"Anyone with eyes could see you curling your lip at that one dark-haired broad and it don't take much of a mind to know that means you hate her guts," Searbh said tail tip flicking about like a mad thing.

Marth's eye twitched and his lip curled in imitation of what Searbh had just commented on. "That broad is my fiancée. She is a princess and you will treat her with respect. Otherwise I will make it so you cannot open your mouth unless I say you can."

"Fuck you, Ice Princess." Searbh sneered. "You just can't admit to yourself that I'm right and that the last thing you want to do is hitch yourself to the bitch. So go ahead, make all the fucking orders you want. Don't make me any less right and you any less screwed."

"Searbh."

"Yes Master Whiney-Bitch?"

"Shut up."

Searbh didn't respond, the command clamping his mouth shut. Marth didn't find any relief in the resulting silence. How could he? The damage had already been done. Now all that was left to him was to deal with the resulting shit storm. However, he was going to go back to the Tower and take a long nap first. Marth sighed, letting his head drop back into his hands.

So much for his familiar making a good first impression with the family.

* * *

**Lynx: Ah, writing that was so much fun! Even though it took me two months or so. But it wasn't my fault really; Searbh was arguing with me about what he wanted written. **

**Marth: Sure. My theory is that you were arguing with yourself for no reason, but as usual my opinion doesn't count for anything.**

**Lynx: Damn right it don't. **

**Marth: You have the maturity of a five year old.**

**Lynx: Yep. But anyways, a shout out to those who reviewed, alerted and favorite-d! I love you all bunches :D. **


End file.
